


A Close Shave

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: “It’s my hair,” Enjolras said with a sigh.Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Your hair,” he repeated.“Yeah, my hair,” Enjolras said, gesturing frustratedly at his frizzy curls. “It’s driving me crazy! It’s in that weird place where it’s so long it keeps falling in my face but it’s too short to pull back.”“So get a haircut,” Grantaire said, like it was obvious.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 105





	A Close Shave

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from my favorite Wallace and Gromit film.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Grantaire, I need your help.”

Grantaire appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, looking equal parts amused and self-satisfied as he looked at Enjolras who was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. “Well of course you do, but I never thought I’d live to hear you admit it.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Hilarious,” he said dryly. “Are you going to help me or what?”

“That depends entirely on what you need my help for.”

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair – or at least, he tried to, though his fingers got snagged in his curls and he wound up yanking them through and wincing as he did. “It’s my hair,” he said with a sigh.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Your hair,” he repeated.

“Yeah, my hair,” Enjolras said, gesturing frustratedly at his frizzy curls. “It’s driving me crazy! It’s in that weird place where it’s so long it keeps falling in my face but it’s too short to pull back.”

“So get a haircut,” Grantaire said, like it was obvious.

Which it was, and Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Oh, right, because I’m going to walk into a Great Clips in the middle of a pandemic and demand a haircut,” he snapped.

Grantaire hesitated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Please tell me you don’t actually get your hair cut at Great Clips.”.

“Well sometimes I go to Sport Clips…”

“Ok, after COVID is over, I’m introducing you to my barber,” Grantaire said. “In the meantime, have you tried styling it differently? We can buy some bobby pins or bows or sparkly barrettes—”

Enjolras shook his head. “As much as I love flouting gender roles, I’m not entirely sure now is the time.”

“Fine, so what do you want to do?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “I want to shave my head. Or, more accurately, I want you to shave my head.”

“No.”

Grantaire didn’t even pause to consider it, and Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire—”

“No, I’m not letting you shave your head!”

Enjolras cocked his head, his tone turning cool. “Excuse me, _letting_ me?”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Poor choice of words aside, I love your hair. You love your hair. You do not actually want to shave your head. And you especially do not want me to shave your head.”

Enjolras lifted his chin stubbornly. “Yes I do.”

“And when you regret it tomorrow and want to blame me?” Grantaire challenged.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen,” he scoffed.

Grantaire gave him a look. “You say that now, but who got blamed for letting Bahorel talk you into getting a tattoo?”

Enjolras matched both his look and his tone. “You were literally the one who got me drunk and told me it was a good idea.”

“Ok, I may have bought you the shots, but I did not make you drink them,” Grantaire said. “And besides, I stand by telling you it was a good decision because I love your guillotine tattoo.”

Enjolras seized on the opportunity to return to the topic at hand. “So do I, which is why I think this may end up being a good idea, too.”

Grantaire hesitated. “What if you have a weirdly shaped head?”

“What?”

“If you shave your hair, you may end up realizing that you have a weirdly shaped head, and by then, it’s too late, and you have to go out for several weeks with the lumpy head. Do you want that?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Grantaire, we’re in the middle of a pandemic. I think I can handle the grocery store cashier and the occasional delivery driver seeing my oddly shaped head. Besides, it’s also December, so chances are I’ll be wearing a hat.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Great, so you’ll look like you have cancer. Is that what you want? You want to take the attention away from the actual cancer patients who need it?”

Enjolras frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Ok, what is this actually about?”

“The cancer patients, Enj,” Grantaire said patiently. “I just said that.” Enjolras’s expression didn’t flicker and Grantaire sighed. “Fine. It’s about the fact that I love your hair.”

“You said that already.”

Grantaire sighed again. “No, I know, but I mean…”

“Are you afraid you won’t be attracted to me anymore without the hair?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire snorted. “God, no.” 

“Then what?”

“You’re going to think it’s stupid,” Grantaire hedged.

“I promise I won’t,” Enjolras said, before hesitating. “Wait, unless...is it a sex thing?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “What would you do if it was?”

Enjolras’s mouth opened and closed again and he shrugged somewhat helplessly. “Honestly I have no idea.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Well luckily, it’s not a sex thing.” He hesitated once more, but this time, when he spoke again, it was with a reluctance that sounded to Enjolras like honesty. “I love your hair because it’s the one imperfect thing about you.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire sighed and leaned against the bathroom sink. “I mean I wake up every morning and the first thing I see when I look at you isn’t your gorgeous eyes or your beautiful lips or that perfect bone structure. I wake up and I see your golden rat’s nest sticking up in eighteen different directions.” Enjolras raised a defensive hand to pat his hair but Grantaire caught his hand, twining their fingers together. “And I love seeing that. I love seeing you, the real you, the you that only I get to see.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I guess I can understand that.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras half-smiled. “But Grantaire, you get to see the imperfect me in a hundred different ways every day. I mean, look, I haven’t worn real pants in six months. Do you know what Courfeyrac would pay to see me in ratty, stained sweatpants?”

Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s crotch. “Honey, it’s not the ratty or stained part he wants to see, trust me.”

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras snapped, flushing, though he carried doggedly on. “You get to see me in all kinds of imperfect ways. Hell, if it weren’t for the hair, you’d get to see me wake up in a puddle of my own drool.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“If you think that’s disgusting, don’t forget: you get to hear me fart in my sleep.”

Grantaire winced. “I love you, but we really need to differentiate here between things that are imperfect and sexy, and things that are imperfect and never need to be discussed.”

Enjolras grinned triumphantly. “Fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that you get to see me in ways no one else does, and that won’t change if I have a shaved head.”

Grantaire made a face but didn’t outright refute him. “I guess you’re right…”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “Besides, like you said, you may get to wake up every morning and see that I have a weird, lumpy head.”

Grantaire laughed. “Now that is a thought,” he said, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head. “Fine. For the potential of your lumpy, misshapen head, I’ll do it. I will shave your head.”

“Great,” Enjolras said bracingly. “Let’s get started.”

Grantaire looked amused. “Not so fast, I need to go get my clippers.”

Enjolras frowned, picking up the clippers from the sink. “What’s wrong with these clippers that I found under the sink?”

Grantaire eyed them warily. “Trust me, you don’t want me to use those.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re for trimming pubic hair.”

Enjolras dropped the clippers. “Gonna file that one under imperfect and never needs to be discussed.”

“Damn right,” Grantaire said, kissing him on top of the head once more.


End file.
